The Definition of Normal
by CupcakeBean
Summary: It had been there for so long, had become so normal, that she had never recognized it. B&B oneshot.


**Disclaimer**: As always, this story was written for entertainment purposes only and no copyright infringement was intended.

**A/N**: Thank you **lizook** for beta-ing this!

…

**The Definition of Normal**

"What kind of gun do you carry?"

"How many murderers have you caught?"

"What is your favorite book?"

"Is your life really as exciting as Andy Lister's?"

As the group converged on him and started firing questions in rapid succession, Booth began to wonder why the hell he was there. This event was for Bones' publisher—not the Jeffersonian or the FBI. It wasn't work-related and was definitely _not_ within his job description. Sure, he hadn't minded at first, walking in with his pretty partner on his arm, feeling like a lucky guy. This was short-lived, however, when she was whisked away, leaving him alone and exposed and way, _way_ out of his element.

And here he thought he was out of place among the Squints…

Like a lone wildebeest on the African savannah, the hyenas were ready to pounce the minute he was alone. These people were a bunch of snobby bookworms, seemingly hell-bent on making him feel stupid. Half of them wanted a detailed narrative of his life—mostly women who slipped him their phone numbers "just in case". The other half—the men—flaunted their career/income/education/vehicle, anything to make him seem inferior.

Left to fend for himself, he tried to field the questions—and the unwanted attention—as politely as he could. In his head, he was kicking himself for getting suckered into this. How did she talk him into it, anyway?

His eyes scanned the room for the woman in question and spotted her with her own group of admirers. He felt his irritation grow when he realized they were mostly men. Not for the first time that night, he contemplated taking out his gun and shooting someone. Preferably the blond guy who was standing just a little too close to her.

He really, _really_ should have stayed home tonight.

And then her intense blue eyes were searching him out and, when she made eye contact, he felt the air being sucked from his lungs. Her affectionate smile made his heartbeat quicken and his knees weaken and suddenly an evening with a bunch of brainiacs was a small price to pay.

Across the room, Brennan was feeling equally impatient. As a best-selling author, and one of her publisher's biggest stars, she was obligated to be there. She _hated_ these things. She made enough money for these people… She shouldn't be required to "press the flesh" too, as Booth called it.

_Booth_.

Inviting him had been an uncharacteristically spontaneous decision, one that had surprised them both. If she'd been thinking clearly, she would have realized it was probably rude to ask him to be her date on such short notice. Instead, the request simply popped out of her mouth. But he'd agreed without hesitation and, she had to admit, having him there had made the night much more enjoyable.

Her gaze met Booth's from across the room, his _dear god please rescue me from this conversation_ expression making her chuckle. She excused herself from the man that was very obviously trying to pick her up and made her way toward her partner.

His pleading look quickly gave way to relief when she reached him. Slipping her arm through his, she addressed the small group.

"Will you please excuse Agent Booth? I need to have a word with him."

She firmly tugged his arm—as if he ever needed any prompting to follow her—and led him off to the side. She leaned in to speak conspiratorially and he moved closer to hear her.

"Let's get out of here."

As miserable as he was at these things, he didn't want her to cut the night short because of him. "Bones—" He started to protest, but her hand, which was still holding onto his bicep, tightened its grip, effectively silencing him.

"I'm the guest of honor… I can do whatever I want."

Her words and tone were defiant, but it was her mischievous grin that halted any argument he might have mustered up. With a hearty laugh, he seized both of their champagne glasses and deposited them on a nearby table. Grabbing her hand, he laced his fingers through hers and they stole off into the night.

The air outside was chilly and he reluctantly released her hand to slide off his jacket and help her slip into it. There was a time, long ago now, when she'd resented such gestures of chivalry, believing she had to prove herself as an equal in this partnership. Now she welcomed both his jacket and his thoughtfulness, and the warmth and security she found in them. She slid her hand back into his and smiled shyly at his pleased expression as they made their way more leisurely to the SUV.

"I feel like we're doing something bad," he confessed once they were on the road.

"Well, you know," she began, giving him a sideways glance, "other than our Dine and Dash, I haven't done anything bad on purpose. You have to be bad to be good, right?" He gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Maybe I'm just trying to catch up to you."

His laughter was loud inside the quiet of the car. "Are you saying I've done a lot of bad things?" he teased.

She gave him an assessing look and became serious. "I'm saying you must have…"

Her implication wasn't lost on either of them and they were quiet for the remainder of the drive home.

The night was still young, so there was really no question of _if_ he would come up when they got to her apartment. He followed her inside like he'd done a hundred times before, toeing off his shoes and tossing his jacket over the back of a chair near the door. He deposited his badge, wallet, and holstered sidearm on the table next to her purse.

"I'm going to change out of these clothes," she announced over her shoulder as she headed toward her bedroom.

As he made himself at home, flipping on some music and grabbing two beers from the fridge, he could have pondered how familiar this had become, unwinding together after a long day. He could have considered how it might look to an outsider, how comfortable it was, how _normal_ it felt. He could have wondered what it all meant. He could have had these thoughts and about a dozen others, but he didn't. The truth was, this was _them_, the way they were when all the defenses were down.

After quickly changing into a t-shirt and pair of yoga pants, Brennan paused in the doorway to study her partner. Objectively, she could admit he was a handsome man. He took great pride in his appearance, although upon closer inspection, he didn't seem too concerned at the moment. His collar and tie were now loosened, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was a rumpled mess. It made her smile. He looked so _normal_ in her home, like he belonged there.

Booth relaxed into the couch, causally propping his feet on the coffee table and flipping open one of Bones' anthropology journals. Within seconds, his forehead was furrowed in concentration as he tried to decipher all the technical jargon. He recognized individual words: _mandible, ilia, zygomatic_—years of working with her had obviously taken its toll—but the rest was a foreign language. That was how he felt sometimes when talking to her, like they spoke different languages. But he never got tired of trying to understand her, trying to learn her language.

A low, feminine chuckle caused his head to snap up. "What?" he asked innocently.

She laughed again, the sound making his stomach flutter. "You look really confused."

"Who, me?" He grinned affectionately, eyes crinkling in that way she found appealing. He tossed the journal aside and made space for her on the sofa.

She sat next to him mechanically, mind searching for a way to thank him, not just for accompanying her tonight, but for all the little things he did. Despite her deep feelings of gratitude, she couldn't seem to find the right words to express it.

"You okay, Bones? You seem like you've got something on your mind." He tapped gently on her temple.

"I'm fine," she tried to assure him.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. He wasn't buying it. "We promised each other that we'll always be honest, right?"

She nodded earnestly and met his appraising eyes. "I-I just…" she struggled to find the words, "I really like spending time with you, Booth."

As she cast her gaze shyly away, Booth thought she might just be the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. "Hey," he spoke in a low rumble, "You know I feel the same way, right? There's nobody I'd rather spend time with."

Instead of responding, Brennan caught him off guard by throwing her arms forcefully around his neck and hugging him tightly. The way she showed her affection might have been awkward, but Booth never had any doubt it was genuine. His own arms wrapped around her waist and an all-too-familiar longing clenched in his chest.

Much too soon, she started to release him, but not before she pressed a light kiss to his cheek. As she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip, and returned the gesture.

And suddenly the air was thick with… something.

Brennan was fairly certain he could hear her heart thumping wildly in her chest. As he loosened his grip on her slightly, she leaned back and found herself face to face with him, mere inches separating them. She'd seen that look on his face before, had seen it more and more often since his coma. They both froze, seemingly caught up in some kind of trance.

His gaze dropped to her lips, which instinctively parted ever so slightly. Neither of them was truly surprised when he bridged the gap and—tentatively at first—touched her lips with his own. Her soft sigh was all the encouragement he needed before deepening the kiss. His hands came up to gently cup her face, thumbs lightly stroking her cheeks as he poured his heart out.

Brennan had never had such an emotional response to a kiss before. Logically, she knew kissing released a rush of endorphins in the brain, causing a sense of euphoria. This was somehow different. As her mind registered the tender way he was caressing her face, it suddenly hit her.

_This is love_.

It was there, everyday, in the way he smiled at her. The way he made her laugh and held her when she cried. The way they brought each other coffee and shared take-out food more nights than not. The way they bickered about well… _everything_, just because they liked to. The way he seemed to understand her and the way she _wanted_ to understand him.

It was all these things and so much more. And it had been there for so long, had become so _normal_, that she had never recognized it. For the first time in her life, the idea of loving someone didn't scare her.

Booth reluctantly tore himself away, afraid of what her reaction would be. She _seemed_ like she was into this, if her wandering hands were any indication. Still, he couldn't always tell when something was going to freak her out and, honestly, he was a little freaked out himself. He hadn't meant to kiss her, but this had been a long time coming. He opened his eyes slowly, trying frantically to read her expression.

Dazed, Brennan gasped for air. "Wow," she whispered breathlessly.

Booth's low chuckle vibrated in the small space between them. "Yeah Bones," he brushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, "_Wow_."

As she pulled him in for another kiss, and he smiled against her lips, they each wondered when "normal" had become so full of possibilities.


End file.
